During play time, things come in waves…times of interaction, greeting, choosing outfits, laying out our stuff. Times of touching and hurting and coming. Times of talking. Times of silence. Times of soft, quiet torture, followed by soothing strokes.

So too does my memory come back to me in waves. During our together time, I’m always in the moment with Him. Always aware, thinking I’ll remember EVERYTHING that happened. And then the day progresses, and pain layers upon pain, and lust upon lust. I am both filled, and drained…and can’t think a cogent thought. It takes time for things to trickle down to my conscious memory. Now, days later, things come to mind in quick flashes, images of things I saw, impressions of things I felt, hot flashes of hurt, hotter flashes of sex and pain rolled tightly together. I remember toys, and the brush of his beard against my throat. I recall the weight of his body pinning mine, his hands diving under my shirt to attack my tits. His fingers wrapped in my hair as I suck his cock, or pulling me backwards on the bed to be right where he wants me. The sound of his hand hitting my rump, the sharp and staccato beat of it, followed by the searing heat on my skin. So many images, sometimes moving in a flash as I do some mundane task. I pause and see the movie unfolding.

Near the end of our playtime, the heat and the pain and lust all roll together until I’m begging him to hurt me harder, make me cum harder, make me weep with the pain and joy of it. He laughs with a soft, triumphant sound into my ear. “yes, yes, beg me for it. you want the pain. you want it.” His fingers ram into my cunt, jabbing and thrusting and twisting until I feel like he’s going to pull me inside out. I whine “It hurts, Master, hurts so much…” and his voice hums into my ear, “I know, I know it hurts, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s the best, little girl…”

And i explode.

I cum so hard it hurts, his hand leaving my cunt, only to start slapping my clit and pussy so hard the bed is shaking.

He laughs when my next orgasm squirts from me. This is a huge turn on, just writing this, remembering this. But I’m not writing about orgasms tonight, no matter how good they are, how wet and lovely they are.

No, I’m thinking of that first wave of togetherness. When we’re …reacquainting ourselves with one another. When all is fresh and new, when I’m just getting into the headspace, when I’m letting regular life go and submersing myself into submissive nilla place…that’s a crystal clear memory. My hair is just right, my lipstick bright. My things are laid out, and I’m ready for fun. I forget how much fun hurts at this time. I just remember the floaty part, not the journey there.

I’m dressed in the outfit he chose. I’m in the shoes, on the bed, having been torn between laughter from his fiendish tickling, and pain as he mauls my tits. I’m laying there in the middle of the bed, awash with sensations, already drained, tousled, mussed, tossed around, bruising.

He rises from the bed, moves to the bathroom. I can’t even open my eyes.

“Stay there” he says in the Dom voice.

You know the one, right? There’s the talking voice, there’s the playful voice, and then there’s the Dom Voice.

Stay there.

It’s firm, no nonsense, don’t fuck around tone sends shivers through my bones, raises goose-flesh on my skin, and thrills me. I’m not capable of defying that voice, of playing around and getting up and hiding toys. He’s serious, he means it.

Stay there.

I can’t even think about dozing off, as the words bounce in my head, echo around my mind. That tone. Gods, how it affects me! I can feel the submission leaking from that hidden corner inside me, the one I didn’t think existed anymore. I’m no longer merely talking about submission (in a somewhat hopeful way…) I AM a submissive. I shiver, and am put in my place, though I haven’t moved an inch. I am fully, totally his. A slut. No. His slut. A toy. A possession. His toy, his possession. I lay in the bed as he rises. He pauses at the foot of the bed, speaks.

Stay there.

And walks away. I don’t think. I don’t whine. I obey.

I half-whisper my reply.

yes Sir.

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About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.

3 Responses to Waves of Submission

This post is an example of why I love your writing…I can picture it all, I can feel it….That VOICE, the one that is stronger than rope, and the LOOK, He knows you won’t move, because of who He is and who you are in that moment…..hope you get more of this sooner rather than later…hugs abby

Thanks so much abby! That voice that is stronger than rope…what a great way to phrase that! I hope we get more sooner, too. I have to admit to NOT feeling very submissive of late, and to know that all it takes is His voice, that tone…and I’m back where I’m happy. Thanks for getting it.

I have to agree with abby on your writing 100%, about the only thing you could do so you don’t miss anything is film it. Just saying, that way we would know just how good your writing is. I for one would be willing to compare the two all day long. Tip

Triple X- Rated

This blog is for ADULTS ONLY and contains themes of BD/sm. The stories contained within are just that--sexual tales of sadism, masochism, orgasm control, and pictures of naked tits. If any of this stuff is offensive to you...why are you here?
Seriously ~ this is sexy stuff and not everyone can handle it.
BDSM themes abound...
You have been warned.